Kindred
by Vicki So
Summary: Pawns of their parents' power struggle, the heirs to the throne find comfort and love in each other. A tale of court intrigue and forbidden love between the prince and princess of the Fire Nation. An AU ZukoAzula incest fic, written for loveroftheflame.
1. Comfort

**Hey folks. This piece was a bit of a challenging venture for me: shock! gasp! Not Zutara? Indeed, this was written for loveroftheflame, ****who trade me the beautiful, magnificent Azula fic _Porcelain_ for this.**** Go read _Porcelain_, by loveroftheflame, available on FicHaven dot org.**

**Special thanks to smillaraaq for beta reading.**

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**Title: Kindred**  
Written for LoveroftheFlame.  
**AU Zuko/Azula  
Warnings: **Incest, fiery smex - you have been warned.  
**Disclaimer: ** I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender, or any of the associated characters, place names, etc.

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**Comfort**

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"Zuzu?" The voice was tiny, strained, hoarse from crying. "Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Zuko raised his head off the pillow, peering through the dark at his little sister's silhouette. The faintest shimmer of golden candlelight from the hallway traced the girl's small frame. Sniffling and whimpering as she was, the barely four-year-old princess was a welcome sight in the shrouding darkness. He lifted the blanket and let her climb into his enormous bed, pulling her up when she couldn't quite clear the edge of the mattress. Very calmly, she told him there were monsters under her bed, but her nursemaids wouldn't do anything to keep them from eating her toes.

Well, that cinched it. Of course big brother would let her sleep in his bed, and he told her so, hugging her shivering form close and wishing her a good night. After all, he hated it when the monsters came to eat his toes, too.

At age 8, it was thunderstorms. Azula was terrified of thunderstorms. When white-blue flashes flickered through the sky, and ear-splitting crashes and booms reverberated throughout the palace, the little girl would tuck her head beneath the covers, curl her body into a tight ball and snuggle against big brother's side.

Zuko stroked her hair and waited out the storm with her. He wasn't too fond of lightning himself, though he sometimes thought that his sister's show of terror was a little over-the-top. She'd always been a bit of a drama queen.

Azula's little spells grew a little tiresome at age 11, and the young royals' caretakers began making disapproving noises whenever the girl rushed to her brother's bed for comfort. It's not proper, they said in hushed whispers, and made a point of politely suggesting rooms at opposite ends of the palace to their mother, Fire Lady Ursa.

"You're getting too old for this, Azula," Zuko sighed one night as the girl deftly crawled under the blankets with him, claiming she'd been having nightmares and couldn't she sleep with him just this one night? "You're a big girl now. I don't mind you staying with me, but your nurses are talking."

"Don't care," the princess murmured in the way only sleepy, petulant little girls can. Azula burrowed under the covers. "'Night."

Despite his admonishments and the budding awareness that somehow, according to the grownups, sleeping with his sister was wrong, the prince wrapped his arms around her waist and held her, felt her baby-soft skin with its downy peach fuzz growth on her arms and still-pudgy legs, closing his eyes against the dark and taking his own comfort in Azula's warmth, her affection, her love, and her starry-eyed devotion to big brother. As he drifted off to sleep that night, he wondered how many more nights like these—feeling safe and warm and loved unconditionally—he would have.

On the same day that Azula first started having her monthly courses, they were separated. She was moved from her bedroom across from Zuko's to one on the other side of the palace. Their mother—who had been worrying about her children's stubborn refusal to discard their public displays of familial affection for some time—had decided it was high time Azula learned to be a proper lady of the court and stop relying on her brother for emotional support.

"You're both Firebenders, and heirs to the throne of the Fire Nation. Surely you're not so afraid of the dark that you have to sleep together every other night?" Mother said to her son disparagingly, hands on her hips, nose wrinkled in contempt.

Zuko shrugged, trying not to show his great dismay. It wasn't as if there were a lot of other people his age to play with around the palace. Azula had been his only playmate since forever. But he told himself it didn't matter: he'd see her often enough. They were family, weren't they? As long as Azula was safe and happy, that was all he cared about. Mostly.

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The siblings' life apart began, but Zuko did not get to see his sister at all. One would think that members of the royal family would encounter each other daily, living under the same grand roof, sharing royal duties, and going to the same classy functions. But both children were kept so busy they hardly had time to breathe between lessons and training, much less visit and play.

Brother and sister didn't see each other for weeks. Zuko began to wonder if his sister was all right, but every inquiry only elicited a terse, "She's fine," from his distraught-looking mother.

And then one day, Zuko learned that little sister had been sent away to Girls' Academy.

"It's for the best," his uncle explained gently, patting his nephew's shoulder. The retired general had chased him to the palace ramparts after the prince had thrown an explosive tantrum in his parents' presence. "Try to understand, nephew. Azula is a prodigious Firebender, and will receive special tutelage, better even than what she can get at home. Away from the palace, she will have no distractions and can focus on her studies. She will come home in a few years and be a great master."

"Why couldn't _you_ teach her?" Zuko demanded irately, jealously. "Then she and I could both learn from you, and we'd be together."

His uncle smiled down at him patronizingly, a look that was all-too-penetrating, all-too-knowing, but he did not answer his nephew's question.

The prince stared down the sunset-stained road heading west, imagining he could see his sister's entourage as a speck on the horizon, even though she had left nearly two weeks earlier. Envy evaporated and his lip trembled. "I didn't even get to say goodbye."

Zuko sulked for days after his discovery, and would not speak to his overwrought mother. He wrote Azula daily; then weekly, then monthly, sending his missives by his own trustworthy messenger hawk. Always, he wrote the same few phrases: _How are you? I hope your studies are going well. I miss you. I love you. Come home to me soon. Your loving brother, Zuko._

No replies ever came back with the hawk. But he kept writing anyway.

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The prince's early teenage years slogged on, his days filled with the monotony of lessons and training. Mother saw the grim, hard lines carving his young, perfect face and worried. Zuko needed to be with more people his age. She threw him a string of lavish parties, inviting nobles from across the nation who had offspring and relatives in the 12 to 18 range, always making sure the girl to boy ratio was high.

Young ladies of impeccable breeding in glittering finery were paraded before him, and Zuko gave them all the careful, plastic smiles duty required of him, dancing mechanically with those a little prettier than the others. But they were all empty, shiny baubles. None of them held any interest for him.

If astute little Azula had been there, she would have proclaimed it loudly for all to hear. "Trollops! Dandies! Sugar-coated viperesses!" She'd point at the daughters, quoting from her forbidden book of insults, a prize she had discovered in the palace library and which Mother had insisted on confiscating. Azula had retrieved it, though. She was so clever and sneaky. Zuko laughed quietly to himself at this little fantasy-reminiscence, and fell into a melancholy mood for the rest of the evening.

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It quickly became apparent to the vexed Fire Lady that her son, the future heir to the throne, would take no interest in the potential future Fire Ladies she'd set before him. She watched him through the fractured lens of her crystal goblet, his sad, distant look reflected over the myriad facets in the cut glass, even as he was surrounded by a bevy of beautiful girls all fawning over him. Ursa frowned. This did not bode well. She had to make sure Zuko would secure his position—and her future—in the palace. A betrothed, or better yet, a baby, would certainly ensure the bloodline continued, but the prince was refusing to play that game. Ozai's waning interest in his wife, dissatisfaction with his firstborn son's progress, and increasing attention on his daughter only served to agitate her further.

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Years passed. Zuko turned 17 with little fanfare, though remarkably, his father did call on him to make an appearance in court, where he offered him the only gift the Fire Lord had ever bestowed upon his son and heir: the newest addition to his harem.

She was lovelier than any of the women he'd ever been presented with, her tapering ivory limbs and hourglass figure supporting a noble but demur face that seemed to be made of glass. The teenage prince appraised his gift briefly, thanked his father with a low bow, and led her away through the winding corridors of the grand palace. He had not intended to refuse a gift from the Fire Lord, nor did he have any intention of utilizing her services. But when they reached his chambers and the door was firmly shut, the young woman quietly offered herself to Zuko, expressing her wish to please her young master, her prince, her future lord. She was very persuasive.

Nervous and inexperienced as he was, Zuko was delighted and intrigued by the creamy skin and soft curves this painted trollop led his hands over. On that long, rainy, summer afternoon, the delicate young woman plied her many skills and showed the prince joys and pleasures he never knew existed. He explored what seemed to him to be the full catalog of female sexuality with this nameless courtesan, expanding his education by leaps and bounds with her patient, smiling tutelage. And there was more to be had, she said with a coy smile, if he decided to keep her for his exclusive use.

But even as he climaxed for the third time, spiraling into ecstasy and spilling his overwrought passion into her sex, he found himself remarkably unfulfilled. He was emptied of a long-held, burgeoning, unnamable anxiety, but in the settling dusk, he could already feel it welling inside him again, mixing with newfound feelings of shame and guilt. He lay there, staring at the dark river of the concubine's hair, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing. And he thought of Azula—not for the first time during their coupling.

Zuko did not request the concubine's services again and dismissed her the next morning. But he was not unkind. He gave her a heavy purse and secreted her out of the palace at night, wishing her a safe trip back to her homelands. With luck, Ozai would not discover his son's rejection.

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Later, Zuko would believe this act of compassion had earned him some merit with Agni, because less than a week later, word came that the princess was returning from the Academy. The heavenly missive was sent on the blazing red wings of a twin-tailed messenger hawk wheeling high above the palace gardens. Zuko spotted the bird and whistled for it to alight on his outstretched arm. He read the scroll attached to its leg and realized he was the first to receive his sister's message. The prince took it as a sign.

The next few days were spent pacing the parapets. As he eagerly watched for his sister's caravan, he wondered how his little Azula had changed, what she had learned at the academy, whether she was a woman yet, and what she looked like after more than four years. A new and dark worry crossed his mind: would Father marry her off to some lecherous old general, like that putrid Shinu, or that two-faced monkey of a man, Zhao?

Zuko's gut clenched with fear and loathing and something he didn't have a name for. Years later, when the siblings were permanently separated (or so everyone thought), Iroh identified the emotion for his distraught nephew: jealousy.

And then she arrived, a cloud of yellow dust arrowing from the horizon, the thunder and squealing of komodo rhinos eager to roost almost deafening. As the dust settled in the main courtyard, Zuko, with his Uncle hobbling quickly down the steps, took up a place where he could best glimpse his sister.

Suddenly, she emerged from the curtained litter, eyes squinting against the sun as though offended by it. Zuko felt his face fall. His heart dropped to his stomach. This was not the Azula he had known. This was a stranger wearing a mask of Azula's grown features. Head held high, jutting chin and tightly clenched jaw speaking of the years of harsh training and discipline she had endured, a girl with porcelain skin, face framed by ebony locks, stepped down with grace only the most severe finishing school could have forged. No warmth emanated from her visage. She was cold. She'd been cast to be the princess she was destined to be: beautiful and hard and polished and deadly, like a steel blade.

She surveyed all before her, and that frigid gaze, once full of adoration for her big brother, landed on him flatly. She frowned, her whole bearing full of disdain for the one who would succeed their father as the monarch of their kingdom, even after all she had endured those past four years.

Her lips curled into a sneer, a mirror of their father's, the most courtesy she could muster for her blood kin.

"Hello, _brother,_" she spat.

Zuko's little sister was gone.

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Nighttime. The prince lay in bed, too stunned and pensive to even close his eyes. Though he gawped owlishly in the thick dark, he could register almost no light around him, not even a sliver of the pale moon. It was as if he had gone blind. The night closed in around him, suffocating, oppressive. He wanted to scream. A leaden weight anchored his stomach, pressing him into the down mattress. The silk sheets felt cold and raspy against his bare chest, clinging slightly to the sheen of cool sweat on his skin.

Zuko swallowed a bitter sob, though he didn't know why he was feeling as though his heart had been ripped out. He should be proud of his noble sister. But Azula had changed so much; for the better, according to his father's high praise after a demonstration of her deadly and beautiful lightning bending. But even as the prince politely applauded her, he yearned for the old days; the warmth of her body against his, her clinging, her cooing, her tender hugs and innocent kisses. Now she was cold, sharp, exacting… and he would never be needed to comfort her, and she wouldn't be there for him when—

He felt the mattress sink slightly. The muffled sounds of the well-practiced climb into the prince's grand bed were unmistakable. A foot placed just so at the edge of the bed frame, a fisted hand burying itself deep into the down pallet, a knobby knee against his hip…

He smiled, thrilled, felt the alien but wonderful sensation of his grown sister, his beautiful, wonderful Azula, slither against his skin, bare flesh on bare flesh, firm, soft muscle and sinew rippling within the gauzy sheath of her sleek complexion. Beneath the faint perfume of lilies was the distinct, almost babylike smell of his little sister. He drank it in, and Zuko's shrunken heart swelled.

They said nothing at first as she settled silently next to him, her chest and its strange new womanly curves pressed against his back, her chin resting on his shoulder, a bare arm draped over his muscled abdomen. A hot breath tickled his earlobe and Zuko felt warm. He felt light, like everything was right in the world once more.

"I missed you big brother," she said breathily. "I thought about you every day." Her hand splayed over his chest and she kissed his jaw with all the sweetness and innocence of their long-lost childhood nights.

"And what excuse did you give your handmaidens this time?" He turned over, smirking, and gazed at his sister. Though there was no moonlight, she seemed to glow, her visage burning radiantly in his mind's eye. "Nightmares? Monsters?" His voice dropped even lower. "Are you afraid of the dark still?"

"No." She scooted closer, lips a mere breath from his, "And since when did I need an excuse?"

He rolled his eyes. "How did you get out of your room?"

"I learned a lot at the Academy," she muttered, her voice turning harsh, bitter. The prince felt her pain in the quiet that stretched tautly on, but he didn't know its source. He reached out and stroked her cheek with his thumb, asking her with his soul to look at him, trust him, tell him. Azula's keen champagne eyes regarded him in the thick night, flickering over his shadowed face. She pulled closer and set her lips firmly against his, unwavering.

Zuko sucked in a breath, feeling his pulse race, his nerves zinging with sparks. Stunned as he was, he didn't pull away. He found his eyes fluttering closed, his rigid spine melting, and he relaxed into his sister's long, stanch kiss. Azula broke away first, her mouth hot and moist, lips pursing. "I'm sorry I was so cruel this morning," she said quietly, nuzzling him.

The prince had no words of forgiveness. He simply reached out and stroked his little sister's hair soothingly as he once had, and she went on.

"I did learn things while I was away. Not just about Firebending and manners and laws and geography. They try to teach _morals_ to you. Teach you which things are _right_ and which are _wrong_." She twisted her mouth on the words, making a sour face that made Zuko smile in the dark. "But I've come to an important decision. I wasn't even sure I would have the choice or the freedom to make it when I came home to you, but I did."

"What?" he whispered, trembling with anticipation. "What did you decide?"

"That I don't care for what I've learned." And she leaned in to kiss him again.


	2. The Love the House Built

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**The Love That House Built**

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They were 17 and 16 respectively, far too old to be playing fanciful imagination games. It used to be that they played Soldier or Tea Party. Now that they were of age, they actually had to _be_ soldier, and _host_ tea parties. The fun and glamour of the games had disappeared.

But there was one game Zuko and Azula still played: House. It was the only game they played, the only fun they had.

Of course, with deep pockets and numerous agents kept in those pockets, the siblings had the means to make all their fantasies real, to supply all their childish fancies with the props that made their playtime much more than a simple game.

The cottage over the cliff was small, rustic to the point of dilapidation, a leftover from some lord's holdings that the princess had managed to secretly purchase through a third party. A few pieces of country furniture—two chairs, a table, and a bed for two, bought second-hand, of course—were moved into the house. A maid from a nearby village was paid anonymously to clean it once a week. She was kept well in coin to remain discreet about anything she might discover left in the cabin or in the bed sheets. Of course, she was not a dumb girl: palace trysts were not unheard of, after all. Figuring out which nobleman had seduced which handmaiden by the scent of the perfume in the air, or by the trinkets left behind, was half the fun of her work, and made great conversation fodder in the sewing circles.

The siblings didn't really need to escape the palace to make the affair discreet: there were enough spare rooms, secret passages, closets, nooks, crannies, and dark corners where the two could have stolen enough kisses and caresses for an army of lovers. Azula said part of the fun was getting away from her entourage, the thrill of almost being caught, but Zuko, as big brother, was more prudent. Besides, House was something they could lay claim to together, something that was entirely theirs and not under their parents' dominion. And so their furtive glances and stolen moments in court cooled, and they began conducting their tryst entirely beyond the palace walls.

The clandestine jaunts to the hideaway were easily kept secret, dismissed by those who noticed the royals' separate comings and goings. Moody Prince Zuko is off on another rhino ride, the stablemen said. The Princess Azula requires no escort on her outing into the fields; if she is disturbed, she will surely set you on fire, the handmaidens warned.

No one knew where the two really went during those long summer afternoons. Troubled youths seeking respite, that's all they were to the palace workers. But the teens, despite their lavish upbringing, were not going on the shopping trips or hunting rides the rich, disaffected members of their generation commonly went on to stave off boredom. Instead, they had developed an appreciation for life's simpler pleasures. A humble bed with rough-seeming linens; hot breezes blowing through periwinkle curtains; feeding each other apricots and cherries with juice-stained fingers: these had become the two young royals' greatest comforts, next to the ones they found in each other.

Even compared to the grandeur of the palace, the luxuries of silk and oranges and clusters of adoring staff and admirers, House was the one thing—the only thing—that made the lovers happy.

House was also the only thing that fueled their bitter, ongoing sibling rivalry.

It was a painful ritual, this homestead war. The Fire Lord and his wife had never agreed about who was more suited to the throne, so pitted their offspring against each other daily to test their wills. The week was riddled with barbed comments, poisonous half truths, and incendiary remarks, all lobbed daily from the siblings' respective posts, Azula by her domineering father's side, Zuko by his iron-willed mother's. At the very least, they had to pretend to not like each other under the jealous and scrupulous eyes of their guardians and the palace gossips. Only the promises of being together kept Zuko and Azula at each others' throats. They had to keep up the show, keep everyone from suspecting the rosy glow in the youths' cheeks was from healthy exercise, and not an unorthodox love affair.

Sometimes, brother and sister were forced to duel each other to prove their strength, their worth, their prowess. Zuko never let his sister lose, though: his fireballs went wide, the long gouts of flame he threw were weak and ill-timed. When they came in close contact, he would switch to fire sais and engage her hand-to-hand, relishing the opportunity to graze her steely-smooth skin, enjoying the sight of her up close and at her best. He never hurt her, not really. But she did. And Zuko let her, pretending the stinging burns on his back were her kisses, her caresses, and not the physical expression of hate she had proclaimed them loudly to be.

Mother was not pleased by his performance.

But when their appointed rendezvous date came, they would make haste to their trysting place and beg each other for forgiveness, for consolation, shrouding all the hateful things their parents made them do beneath a veil of kisses, strokes, and heated declarations of love.

"I always lie," Azula cried, tears streaming down her cheeks as she kissed her brother's freshest injuries. "Never believe a thing I say about you. I'm always lying." And her lips would trail over his skin, lapping up Zuko's tears as they dripped down, a salty-sweet mixture of pain and ecstasy, sorrow and happiness. And he would hold her tighter, closer, harder, even if her soft, steely body chafed his burns and bruises.

Those were the good days. The bad days stole in swiftly, a thief with a knife in the night.

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"I think Father is planning something," Azula said lowly one afternoon. The passion sweat of her skin had dried, and her brother teased a trail of goose bumps along it with lazy fingertips. "He's been coddling me again, pouring poison in my ear against you…"

"That's not new," Zuko murmured sleepily.

Azula hesitated, something she was not used to doing. The words she'd been storing all week finally surfaced.

"Have you… have you ever wondered about why Uncle Iroh isn't the Fire Lord?" she asked intently.

The prince opened his eyes and looked at his sister. "It was Grandfather Azulon's dying wish to see his second son, Ozai, claim the throne after crown prince Iroh's bloodline—"

Azula interrupted her brother's explanation, pulled almost word for word from his history scrolls. "The old scrolls say the first in line should have the throne unless he or she is killed. Uncle Iroh is still alive. But instead, Father was conveniently crowned at Grandfather's death before Uncle could get home and get over mourning Lu Ten. He's back now, he's got enough seed in him to spawn a whole army, so why isn't he Fire Lord?"

Zuko stared at his sister. Palace politics had never fascinated him as they had Azula—he took his cue from her. Also, he didn't want to think about Uncle Iroh's seed spawning anything.

"It's just…" She sighed. "…there have been whisperings. Father's been preparing a ship of some kind, an exploration vessel being stocked for a long journey."

The prince could not figure out what this had to do with Uncle Iroh not being Fire Lord, or why Azula was concerned about the nasty things Father had been saying about him of late.

"Perhaps our father means to see the world?" Zuko chuckled at the thought.

Azula shook her head, mutely appealing to her brother, No, no, Zuko, that tiny ship is not for him… But she could not speak her fears, or lend a voice to the shadowy portents hovering on the peripheral of her senses. She laid there on her side, gazing at her brother's perfect, honest face, the left half hidden from view, buried in the cushy pillow.

He smiled just then, and it filled her senses like a blaze of fire.

The princess shook her head again, as though to clear it. Perhaps she had imagined it all. Perhaps the treacherous things she had overheard her father say were not about the beautiful, loving young man curling his body protectively over hers now.

She closed her eyes. If she could just stop her mind from connecting the dots, from bringing the picture into focus, maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't see it. So instead of probing further, she shut herself down and indulged herself in her age-old habit of taking comfort in her brother's arms. Zuko obliged her—repeatedly—and let her hide behind the swaying curtain of shining ebony hair only he had ever seen freed from the severe topknot of their people.

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Iroh knew two things: he knew when to take a hint, and he knew that his nephew was troubled.

It was that first bit of knowledge he had decided to ignore when he followed Zuko that one fateful afternoon, even after the prince had specifically told him he wanted to be alone. The retired general had just come from speaking with the Fire Lady, who had asked him to speak with her son about his continued aloofness with the ladies of the court. Old Iroh had been quite a fox in his time: maybe some of his influence would rub off on the detached and asexual prince?

And so he had tracked him, trudging across vast fields of emerald grass, over rolling hills dotted with tiny wildflowers and up the bluffs bordering the sparkling blue ocean, following the faint trail Zuko's rhino had stamped out. He strolled along, reminiscing about the days when he had gone on identical hikes with his niece and nephew to this very viewpoint, back when they had all been younger and more carefree.

He pictured finding the prince brooding at the cliffs' zenith, like some stoic statue, a parody of himself, staring out to sea as though in search of some lost artifact, or deeply pondering some enigma of the universe. Or maybe, as Iroh suspected, Zuko was feeling bitter about Ozai's continued animosity toward his son. But he wasn't about to make any assumptions. After all, who knew what went on in the mind of a teenage prince?

But Zuko wasn't at the peak. The trail went on past the summit, winding its way down for a few miles until it came to a small, thatch-roofed cottage closer to the water, tucked away just beyond the tree line where no one could really spot it. The prince's rhino was picketed just outside… alongside Azula's giant basilisk lizard.

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The man paced, his heavy, lumbering gait and sheer presence making the cold, solid marble floors tremble.

"How could you?" He exclaimed in a harsh, strangled voice. The palace walls had ears, so Iroh did not actually put into words what Zuko had done. The young man only shrugged, not caring for the retired general's assessment of his relationship with his sister, who was currently confined to her suite at the far end of the palace under Uncle's orders. Yes, even the Dragon of the West had power over his foolishly petulant princess of a niece… when he really meant it. He just hoped he had as much influence over his bullheaded nephew.

The questions rolled off the flustered old man's tongue as quickly as his rebukes. What if it had been someone else who discovered you? This is absolutely scandalous! What if you had had an accident? What will your parents think? What on earth were you two thinking? Do you even know what the punishment for this kind of behavior is?

Zuko narrowed his eyes at his loving Uncle, the only other family member who seemed genuinely concerned about his future. "Banishment," he said without wavering. He knew the laws.

But Azula, being a woman, would not have it so easy. She was spoiled now, deflowered by her own blood kin, her own brother, no less. Doubly dishonoured, she would not have an easy time catching herself a respectable husband, princess or no. Even as the daughter of the Fire Lord, she was not immune to the laws of Agni, and incest was considered one of the mortal sins. Father might be able to weasel the prodigious young lady out of banishment, but what would happen to her after that?

Iroh sighed, clutching his temples. What to do? If he had discovered his niece and nephew's goings-on so easily, it was likely others had, too. Had news of this affair reached the Fire Lord and Lady yet? He would hate to see what this would do to Ursa's already frayed nerves.

Zuko, in his teenage invincibility, waved him off. "No one else but you knows," he said lowly, and he didn't have to say anymore than that: his tone told Iroh everything. _I will do as I please until the day the consequences catch up with me. _If_ they catch up with me._

Iroh only chose to keep his nephew's secret for Ursa's sake. The woman had been so stressed of late, her hair had started going white at the temples. (She hid this tell-tale sign of her age and anxiety with black henna dye, but Iroh wasn't about to let anyone else know how he knew this). After all, she had to ensure the rightful heir to the throne was properly ensconced in his position of power before her husband could make a move against her. Against either of them.

The general laughed bitterly to himself. Fate was twisted and cruel and drank too often with Irony. Ursa and Ozai were divisive, ambitious, and opportunistic. How would they react to their progeny's secret? His brother was not, after all, the understanding type. And Iroh could only imagine the hell the Fire Lord's two children would have to endure if the rest of the court—much less the rest of the Fire Nation—learned of the prince and princess's incestuous relationship.

No, for his niece and nephew's own safety and sanity, he would keep their idyll secret. But he was damned if he let them continue.

Zuko never got a chance to talk to Azula about Uncle's discovery, but she knew Iroh knew. At their next appointed rendezvous, the siblings found they could no longer meet at their love nest. A freak lightning strike on a cloudless day had reduced the cottage to ashes.


	3. The Road Ahead

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**The Road Ahead**

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"He knows." Azula hissed in the privacy of the meditating room where no one was allowed to disturb the prince. "And he's not afraid to use it against you."

Zuko started. "But that would ruin you, too."

Her face creased with worry and bitterness. She clutched her elbows, hugging herself as a shudder passed through her. "Father's never been terribly forgiving. Remember how he won the war: He doesn't care about collateral damage."

They sat and stared at each other, drinking in each other's fear and panic, wanting nothing more than to hold on to each other until Ozai's wrath fell upon both their heads. They were scared and they didn't know what to do.

But Uncle did.

"We have to get you out of the Fire Nation," Iroh said tightly to his nephew. "The rumour mills have already begun about some scandalous affair you've been having. I may have a solution, but it will mean you will not see each other for a long, long time. Maybe never again."

Zuko protested violently. He would not leave his sister in his father's clutches. He would face whatever punishment the law—and his father—meted out. But Azula refused to let him stay. Better he was alive and out in the world than dead in the ground beneath her feet.

"I won't leave you," Zuko gripped his sister's hands.

She smiled sadly. "You never will. Not as long as you are alive."

Iroh looked at his niece and nephew sternly, his lined face betraying no emotion. "I have a plan that could save you both."

It didn't occur to Zuko until much later that the plan had been expedited with far too much efficiency and forethought to have been something his uncle had come up with on the spur of the moment.

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Zuko made the proposal to his father alone in the grand throne room, his sire an inky silhouette behind the curtain of fire that separated him from his minions and the common folk. The Firebending prince laid out an ancient scroll, one dating back to Sozin's days, detailing the last days of Avatar Roku. Iroh had given it to him, a part of the plan to save his sister from shame and dishonour while retaining Zuko's own official claim to the throne. The prince began to tell the tale of the last Avatar, but the Fire Lord already knew the contents of the scroll, had studied them for years just as his own father had. He looked upon the young Firebender's bent form, saw the steely determination in the set of his jaws and the square of his shoulders, and sneeringly acquiesced to his noble son's request. Zuko thanked him shortly and backed out of the throne room, composing his features to hide the anger and dismay threatening to burst from him. His father could at least have _pretended_ he didn't want to see him gone from the palace.

When Ursa found out about her son's proposed crusade an hour later, she slapped him, biting out a few choice profanities, slapped him again, and called him a number of unseemly things before she ran out, ranting and fuming to herself.

Stunned, but somehow not surprised, Zuko paced slowly out to speak with his Uncle, his bruised left cheek stinging more than his pride.

The Fire Lord wasted no time in announcing his son's grand plan to the rest of the kingdom. The proclamation was made just before dinner on that same day. It simply read:

_To further the glory of the Fire Nation, his exalted highness, the Crown Prince Zuko, son of Fire Lord Ozai, son of Ursa, brother of Azula, is departing to find the long-lost Avatar and bring honor to his country and his family. Agni bless him on his quest._

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Zuko's ship was stocked and manned under the expectant, malicious and triumphant eye of his father, and the tearful, angry gaze of his mother. Neither of them had said a word about the illicit affair, but he could sense their judgment, their disgust and loathing hanging about him. But none of that mattered to the royal couple: all that did matter was that Zuko was leaving.

A sharp and stoic grey-haired lieutenant named Jee assured the prince that all would be ready for their departure, and suggested Zuko take the night off while the last of the supplies were loaded on. Iroh had picked this man himself, and for that reason, Zuko trusted him. He left without another word, putting the administration and grunt work of running his ship—he grimaced and admitted, his new _home—_into the Lieutenant's capable hands.

The young Firebender's neck prickled as the day wound down and he faced his final night on the soil of his people. He had been meditating, thinking deeply about what had transpired, wished to the gods Azula would come to him one last time before he left her forever. But when he heard the door creak open, he was thoroughly disappointed.

Soft, heavy footsteps tolled an introductory gong to the thoughts that had been percolating through his tortured mind. His mouth felt dry as the words slipped out, like poisoned ichor.

"He was going to get rid of me all along, wasn't he?" He asked quietly.

Iroh looked away, letting the thick silence speak for him.

"The ship was prepared for me ahead of time. He's been planning this for months."

"Be grateful," Iroh intoned morosely. "Ozai had numerous plans to shame and dishonour you to get you out of the country. But this way, leaving on your own, you will be protecting your sister and your mother, plus, you will still be crown prince officially. Ozai cannot take that title away from you now, unless—"

"You knew he was going to get rid of me!" Zuko turned furiously on his Uncle. "Why didn't you say anything?"

The old man sighed deeply. "I'm sorry Zuko. I knew there were only a few chances for you to escape unscathed and I couldn't risk you letting your father know you'd caught on to his plot."

"So you were just going to let him carry out his plans to banish me? Or worse?"

"Try to understand—"

But the prince had heard enough. He stormed out, the anger boiling over and spilling out in all directions. The old general's answer was not nearly satisfactory, and Zuko felt thoroughly betrayed by the one man he thought he could trust.

Understanding—and forgiveness—would not come for many, many years.

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At night, he lay in his bed, not feeling the silk sheets, not seeing the faint glow of the hallway lights from beneath the door. The full moon, an all-seeing eye drifting high above, watched over him piteously, tears of starlight scattering across the velvet blue heavens.

A silhouette appeared lithely on the balcony, and Zuko thought at first that Tui Herself had come to save him and join him with his sister permanently. Better still, it was Azula. She must have scaled the palace walls and slipped around the ledges to get to his room. Clever girl. Face drawn, eyes red from crying, she clambered quickly into his bedchamber and stole into his embrace with the expediency of a smash and grab highwayman, her lips robbing him of breath and speech.

There was no time for sweetness or soft words. Azula was greedy in their frantic lovemaking that night, stealing every kiss and touch and electric sensation to keep for herself. When she was finally spent, she collapsed atop him, her shuddering pants sounding desiccated and choked with sobs. Zuko absently stroked her hair, but the gesture was automatic rather than comforting, and had lost its soothing effect. The princess whimpered and tried to wrap herself in her brother's skin, burrowing, burying, snuggling and gripping him so tightly that her sharpened nails left bloodied bites in his flesh. But there was little comfort he could extend to his sister. He felt numb: it was as if she really had taken something from him that night, leaving her brother empty and unburdened for the long voyage ahead of him. Zuko suddenly wondered when their affection for each other had turned to ash.

He shook himself. He was waxing poetic again, indulging the tragic romantic side of himself that Azula had often teased him about when they were younger. Of course he still loved her: one night of unfulfilling sex could not sour him to his beloved sister. He pulled her closer, drinking in the sensations of her body with its baby-soft skin, the cascades of silky onyx hair draped over him, the delicate scent of lilac perfume mixed with the steel of her sweat, and pushed out all other thoughts. His lips found hers and they melded together sweetly, hungrily. This was his last night with her, his beautiful, wonderful sister, his passionate, empathetic lover. He would make the most of it.

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When Iroh came to wake his nephew the next morning, he was unsurprised to find the princess still there. It was better this way, he surmised, clearing his throat to explain his presence to the bitter, angry and annoyed-looking young woman sitting up in bed.

People—smart people—knew about Ozai's conspiracy to make Azula the legitimate heir to the throne. Smarter people knew that the sex scandal purported to be the "real" cause of the prince's departure from his homeland was really a cover-up for the Fire Lord's ultimate purpose. But to keep the ones not in the know—to save Azula's honour and prevent a civil war from sweeping over the kingdom—Zuko had to keep up appearances. He had to present some small evidence of an illicit affair to throw the scent off his sister and give people something to chew on as he waved goodbye.

In the next heartbeat, with Zuko still sitting in naked in his bed, an arm draped around Azula's waist, Iroh stepped aside, ushering in a thin, dark-skinned waif of a girl with defiant blue eyes and long braided hair. She was about the same age as Azula, and despite being a spoil of war—a slave in the palace acquired nearly four years ago—she held her chin high, her jaw set with determination and bravery.

Those two blue eyes appraised the incestuous siblings, their shame plain before her. Her gaze held no judgment, and did not break from the prince's returned gape.

"Her name is Katara," Iroh said to him somberly. "She will be your lover."

Azula began to cry.

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The next piece of news surprised Zuko further.

"Coming with me? Why?"

The old man grinned, and casually expressed his wish to see the world and do some shopping. "Besides," he put a hammy hand on the young man's shoulder and gripped his nephew fiercely. "Family sticks together."

Zuko, still feeling the sting of betrayal, pulled out of Iroh's grasp and stalked on ahead. Still, he could not help the waves of relief pulsing through him.

The retired general, being an excellent observer of human behavior, smiled and followed his nephew. What he had failed to mention was that the prince and his "lover" would need a chaperone for the voyage.

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"I will see you again, Azula," Zuko said tersely under the baleful eyes of their parents. Their longing and sorrow was thinly veiled by contempt held not for each other, but for the simpering pair perched on their thrones nearby.

The princess nodded once, afraid her voice would betray her. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, making her gold eyes bright, the lashes dark and wet. But Zuko knew what she wanted to say, knew from all those stolen moments of lying inches away from her, face to face in the same bed, what she was really saying: _I love you, Zuko._

And then the prince and the retired war hero were walking to the ship to the cheers and well-wishes of the oblivious peasantry, the sneers of the better-knowing nobles, the tears of his would-be wives, and the predatory leer of his despicable father. Flowers and petals were thrown at the royals' feet, but the prince barely registered the fragrant carpet crunch underfoot, his eyes fixed on the gangplank, his mind fixed on his last glimpse of Azula, ruby lips pursed, despair and hope radiating out beneath her royal composure.

Zuko watched as the ship hauled anchor and the engines started, a dull, shuddering roar beneath his feet starting them on the languorous journey away from port. His eyes stayed fixed on Azula the entire time, her pale face framed by twin locks of ebony, standing next to his mother and father on the raised dais, until he could no longer see her. Only when his homeland dipped below the horizon did he begin to cry.

"You did a very brave thing," a voice, liquid, soft and soothing, said, "leaving your home to protect your sister."

Zuko hastily recomposed himself and turned. The slave girl stood to one side, eyes the colour of the sky watching him. She looked ready to offer her support, her advice, whatever he needed to get through this difficult time…as per his uncle's firm directive. She spoke again out of turn. "You must love her very much."

Zuko watched this impertinent wench momentarily, and looked to the horizon again. He imagined her standing on the parapets, watching for her brother's ship, waiting for his return. That image alone filled him with hope.

"Yes. I do. And I will see her again. I swear it."

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**END…?**

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**Well, that's that, folks. Hope you liked it, even if you found it squicky. There may be a sequel, but I'm hard pressed to finish all the other things I'm working on, so stay tuned!**

**Thanks once again to smillaraaq for beta reading, and to loveroftheflame for providing me this intriguing challenge. This story, and lover's _Porcelain_, is available at FicHaven dot org. Go read it!  
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**Best wishes and fishes, Vicki So.**

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